


The One Whose Footsteps Made a Lasting Impression

by Angelise (angelise7)



Category: NCIS
Genre: Early Work, Episode Related, Episode: s01e06 High Seas, Episode: s01e19 Dead Man Talking, Episode: s01e20 Missing, Episode: s01e21 Split Decision, M/M, Must know the episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2548838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a glance, a glance which became a fascination and then a consideration that turned his life completely upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Whose Footsteps Made a Lasting Impression

**Author's Note:**

> Found this on a data CD when I was cleaning out the drawers of my computer desk. This was to have been my second NCIS novella. It was set aside when I fell out of love with the show somewhere around season 5 or 6. My growing frustration with the way the writers continued to write Tony's character soured my enjoyment of the show. Anyway . . . the story would have followed Jethro and Tony's relationship through the seasons. Sadly, I only made it as far as Season 1. It is incomplete in that I didn't finish what I originally started out to do, but it does end in such a way that works for what has been written . . . at least it works for me!

**In the Dark**

 

 “You’re staring, Jethro.” 

Ducky's voice broke the silence, and Jethro turned just far enough to glance at the bespectacled man sitting across the room from him. “No, I’m not,” he answered his best friend. 

The four of them -- he, along with DiNozzo, Kate and Abby -- had just finished a delicious meal prepared and served by none other than their resident coroner. Ducky’s culinary skills rivaled those of _Emeril_ , and Jethro never passed up an opportunity to savor one of his creations. 

He glanced over his shoulder at the doorway leading to the kitchen. Kate and Abby were currently assisting the elder Mrs. Mallard with the clean up detail. One corner of his mouth curved upward when he recalled Kate’s strong hint that such tasks were more than appropriate for _both_ sexes. He had merely arched an eyebrow before leading the way to the study with Ducky and DiNozzo following in his wake. He forgave the former Secret Service agent for her thinly veiled suggestion. Kate was new to his team, he reminded himself, still learning the lay of the land. 

Jethro savored a sip of the age-old whiskey Ducky kept on hand just for him. His simple sigh of appreciation brought a smile to his friend’s face. 

“Almost as good as coffee, eh, Jethro?” Ducky asked with a chuckle.

 Never shifting his gaze, he answered, “Almost, Duck, almost.”

 “Do you remember that time in Spain when you went without coffee for an entire . . . .”

 The recall of a yet another familiar tale went unnoticed by Jethro. His attention, as it had been for the past half hour, remained firmly fixed on the youngest male member of their party.

 Anthony DiNozzo.

 Jethro again allowed a minute smile to ease the frown from his face. DiNozzo had eaten more than his share of the fine meal Ducky prepared as part of his ‘welcome-to-the-team’ meal for Kate. Once finished with his third slice of pie, DiNozzo had obediently followed the two of them into the study and taken a seat beside him on the sofa. It came as no surprise when he nodded off seconds after Ducky started regaling them with stories of what he considered _his_ lurid past.

 “You’re staring again.”

 This time he offered no dispute. He was staring, staring and contemplating possibilities that hadn’t broken the surface of his consciousness in several decades. There was something about DiNozzo that intrigued him, and he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to accept the reason for his curiosity. Of course, if he had resisted his inquisitive nature in years past, he wouldn’t be the despised ex-husband three times over.

 His smile faded and, once gone, was replaced by the frown his colleagues swore was permanently affixed to his face. “Do you think he’ll ever come clean with us?” he asked.

 “Come clean?” Ducky asked. “As in, reveal his surreptitious proclivity for the male gender instead of the fairer sex?”

 Jethro rolled his eyes at his friend. “Yeah, as in, telling us he’s gay.” Returning his gaze to DiNozzo’s slumbering features, he recalled the exact moment he and Ducky had discovered their companion’s secret.

  

 Two months ago the team, minus their vacationing Lothario, was called to the scene of a grisly twin murder. The location was a well-known, albeit private club for gays of the D.C. area, and the victims, two underclass seamen fresh from a tour in the South Pacific.

 Upon their arrival at the crime scene, Jethro was somewhat stunned to discover the local PD had, for once, done their job, locking the club down tight and preventing all those inside from leaving. In fact, the lockdown had gone so smoothly that many of the club’s members were unaware of the travesty and thus caught entirely by surprise when the team of investigators invaded the area of private rooms on the second floor.

 With Ducky in tow, Jethro had been following a trail of muddy footprints when a door at the end of the hall opened. Out stepped DiNozzo. It didn’t take a stretch of imagination for the two of them to figure out what their young associate had been up to inside the room. Jacket and tie draped haphazardly across his arm, DiNozzo stood talking with his unseen companion while buttoning his shirt and zipping his slacks. Unmistakable male hands appeared and halted the process, causing DiNozzo to offer up a halfhearted protest.

 Their initial shock hadn’t even begun to wear off when the owner of the helpful hands stepped into the hall and pulled DiNozzo into a passionate, full-body embrace. It wasn’t so much the kiss or DiNozzo’s answering moan of appreciation that bothered Jethro as it was the identity of the man doing the kissing.

 NCIS Agent Christopher Pacci.

 

  No wonder I don’t care for the guy, Jethro mused while staring into the depths of his whiskey.

 Refusing to dwell on the _exact_ reason for his dislike, he turned to Ducky. “How long do you think the two of them have been together?”

 Armed with the truth regarding his junior agent’s sexuality, Jethro had begun to pay special attention to both DiNozzo and Pacci. It soon became apparent the two were in a serious relationship, a fact they kept closely guarded. It didn’t matter, though. Once he knew what to look for, he had them dead to rights -- the cautious gestures, the furtive glances, the ‘accidental’ run-ins -- all were easy to spot.  

 Easy to spot but not easy to forget, the voice inside his head reminded him.

 Jethro shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The voice he could and did ignore especially when it started suggesting options he wasn’t sure he was ready to act upon.

 “As to the duration of their relationship, I have no answer for you,” Ducky replied to his question. “Does it matter?”

 It did. Jethro did not like secrets, especially when they involved members of his team.

 He took another taste of his whiskey and contemplated exactly what it was DiNozzo saw in Chris Pacci. The man was, without a doubt, a solid agent. Quiet -- a trait DiNozzo would be wise to emulate -- dependable, hard-working, dedicated to the job. On a more personal note . . . Jethro pursed his lips. Despite his private feelings on the subject, he conceded Chris was basically a good guy. Laid-back, had a dry sense of humor and appeared to be well-liked by just about everyone in the office.

 Jethro cocked an eyebrow. Well, _almost_ everyone.

 The man beside him shifted slightly, and he noted how DiNozzo’s relaxed features made him look younger than his thirty years. Why on earth would the kid involve himself with someone who was at least five if not ten years older? Chris was . . . .

 Jethro snorted. Chris wasn’t that old. Definitely not as old as . . . . He finished off his whiskey and slammed the empty glass down on his thigh.

 “What has you fretting so?” Leaning forward, Ducky pinned him with an inquisitive gaze that demanded answers. “Are you repulsed by Anthony’s homosexual nature?”

 “No.” Jethro grimaced at the sound of snuffled snorting to his left. It was bad enough DiNozzo was a walking, talking, GQ-attired, encyclopedia of useless movie trivia. Now he could add noisy sleeper to the growing list of behaviors that both irritated and confounded him beyond measure. Nobody with any lick of sense watched that many movies.

 “That’s not the issue.” Jethro pushed none too gently at DiNozzo’s shoulder. The man was leaning precariously toward him, and he wasn’t in the mood to wipe drool off his jacket.

 Once DiNozzo was again ensconced on his side of the couch, Jethro looked over at his friend and firmly stated, “I have no problem with Tony being gay.”

Ducky rose to his feet. Crossing the room, he collected a decanter of brandy from the bar and poured himself a fresh drink. “Then what exactly is the issue? What has you so fixated on our young associate?”

“I don’t like pretense,” Jethro admitted. “Never have. Pretense is the same as deceit in my books, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s lying.” Of course, he ignored the inner voice that had, for the past two years, cited  _him_ for the exact same crime.

From the minute Anthony DiNozzo became a member of his team, Jethro had maintained his interest in the man was purely professional. DiNozzo was young, immature, literally untested as a field agent. He needed guidance, direction, seasoned leadership, and who better than himself to provide such? His team was his one and only priority, and thus his exaggerated interest in DiNozzo was perfectly valid.

“Exactly what pretense of Tony’s do you object to?” Ducky asked upon resuming his seat.

Following in his friend’s footsteps, Jethro made his way to the bar and refilled his glass with a healthy shot of whiskey. “His flirting with women, that’s what I object to.” He pointed his glass at DiNozzo. “It’s always annoyed the hell out of me. But now that I know about him and Pacci, it’s like . . . .” He waved his glass in the air, searching for the right words. “Either piss or get off the pot,” he finally stated.

“Well put, Jethro, well put.” Ducky saluted with his half-empty snifter. “But seriously, you do realize a large number of gays align themselves with women purely for sake of self-preservation? Heterosexual by day, homosexual by night. Or maybe I should say, better safe than sorry?”

Ducky transferred his gaze to DiNozzo, and his features immediately softened. “I’ve grown quite fond of our young colleague. It would break my heart if Anthony’s well-being was placed in jeopardy because his relationship with Christopher was made known without their explicit consent.”

“Look, I’m not an idiot,” Jethro insisted with some irritation, “nor am I insensitive to the matter. I just don’t like being kept in the dark. Not about this.” He returned his attention to his slumbering couch-mate and wondered for the millionth time what path his life might have taken if DiNozzo had come clean with him from the very beginning. Would Pacci have been part of the picture? Would he have finally acknowledged his interest for what it really was and acted upon it?

Not according to those damn rules of yours, his inner voice asserted.

Bringing the whiskey bottle with him, he resumed his seat on the couch. “All I’m saying is he could have confided in me.

“It’s his choice, his life,” Ducky reminded.

“Yeah, and it’s my team.” Jethro countered. “DiNozzo’s actions, his choices, could seriously affect my team, maybe even jeopardize it. I won’t allow that.”

“I have no answer for you, then,” Ducky stood at the approach of their missing guests. “Anthony will either confide in you or he won’t. It’s his choice.”

 Jethro forced a smile when the ladies of their party joined them in the study. Abby squeezed in between him and DiNozzo on the couch, thus waking the younger man from his impromptu nap.

 “Yeah, his choice,” Jethro muttered under his breath. The drowsy smile that welcomed their wiggling companion captured his gaze and held it hostage. “Why does that thought scare the hell out of me?”

  

**Surveillance**

 

 “Didn’t know you cared, Boss.”

 Jethro lowered his binoculars and glared at Stan Burley. It had been two years since Burley had occupied a desk across from him at NCIS headquarters, and evidently, nothing had changed in those two years. The man still had the knack of rubbing him the wrong way, but that hadn’t stopped him from hauling his team across the Atlantic to the _USS Enterprise_ the second Burley had asked for his assistance. Burley was a good agent, and the simple fact that his presence would ruffle DiNozzo’s feathers in a major way only sweetened the deal.

 “Is there a point to this conversation, Stan?” he grouchily demanded.

 Burley indicated the tall NCIS agent walking along the flight deck below them. “He’s not as curvaceous as those you used to date, but hey, whatever floats your boat.”

 Jethro held himself perfectly still. His gaze, on the other hand, betrayed him by unerringly locating the subject of their conversation. “Your mouth is going to land you in serious trouble one day.”

 Stan grinned. “Just making an observation, Boss.”

 Jethro lifted the binoculars to his eyes again. “It’s an observation you would do good to keep yourself. That is, if you value that hide of yours.”

 His companion lapsed into silence . . . for all of thirty seconds.

 “You know, Gibbs, I worked with you for five years,” Burley noted. “Never realized you pitched for the other team.”

 “I don’t,” Jethro stated. His brusque reply should have ended the conversation, but this was Stan he was talking to. The man was like a dog with a bone, sometimes. An admirable trait when the bone was a murder investigation that needed solving, but irritating as hell when the bone was something personal, like his fascination with DiNozzo. “Don’t you have some flight deck footage to watch?”

 Burley nodded before pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his bloodshot eyes. “Taking a break, Boss. Eyes were going crossed.”

 Biting back a sigh of frustration, Jethro continued his surveillance. “Break’s over. Get back to work.”

 “The rumor mill has it your man might soon be a free agent,” Burley noted. “It’s been two years after all.”

 Burley took a step back in defense when Jethro turned abruptly and glared at him. “Free as in single, unattached, back on the market,” he hurriedly explained.

 Jethro forcibly relaxed his grip on the binoculars. Was that the reason DiNozzo kept switching jobs every two years? A relationship gone sour? And if that was true, was he really about to jump ship?

 He rolled his eyes at the unintentional pun. “DiNozzo’s personal state of affairs is none of my business,” he claimed. He nodded his head in satisfaction. His reply had been firm, blunt, accurate as hell.

 Burley tapped a finger against the binoculars and grinned like a Cheshire cat. “If you say so, Boss.”

 The man turned to go, thus ending their somewhat disquieting conversation. Of course, Jethro knew otherwise. Remember . . . dog with a bone. His reprieve was, as he’d suspected, brief.

 Burley stopped short of opening the hatch. “Hey, Boss,” he called.

 Jethro lowered his binoculars and glanced over his shoulder. Stan’s idiotic grin had been replaced by a genuine smile of caring. Ah shit, he thought. Here it comes.

 Burley didn’t disappoint him. “I like him, Gibbs,” he admitted. “DiNozzo would be an excellent choice if you were _indeed_ considering switching teams. He’ll keep you on your toes.” The man’s grin returned at the same speed as that of the Tomcat landing on the deck below them. “Of course,” he yelled over the deafening noise of screaming engines, “if I’m way off base about this, you can always send him my way. I don’t have a list of rules like you do and wouldn’t mind having him on _my_ team.” With that parting shot, Burley disappeared from sight.

 “Send him your way?” Jethro muttered. “Like hell I will. DiNozzo’s . . . .”

 Snapping his mouth shut, he turned his gaze toward the deck below and frowned when he couldn’t locate the man in question. Exactly how had he planned on finishing the sentence? DiNozzo’s my agent? DiNozzo’s mine?

 That last thought brought him up short. Not only was it completely foreign to him to think that way about a member of his team, but rarely in his life had he been so fixated on someone of the male gender. Not even during his long stint with the Marines, when he was surrounded by nothing but men, had he succumbed to the insanity of approaching another man with something other than the thought of friendship.

 What the hell was going on? Was he going through a mid-life crisis and instead of fixating on Kate, he was smitten with DiNozzo?

 Jethro growled angrily. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Not his personal upheaval, not his damn rules, and certainly not Stan Burley’s intuitive observations. He’d deal with all of that later. Right now he needed to concentrate on the problem at hand. DiNozzo was his agent, his responsibility, and no way in hell was he allowing a supposedly two year curse disrupt the solid dynamics of his team. Nobody was going anywhere.

 Nobody except maybe Chris Pacci.

 

  **Solo**

 

 “Grab your gear, people.”

 Jethro rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Kate standing beside DiNozzo’s desk -- his _unoccupied_ desk. He felt his gut twist in the same manner it did every time he relived a memory of a case gone bad. Something was wrong, definitely wrong.

 “Where’s DiNozzo?” he growled.

 Kate closed the file she’d been examining and placed it back on DiNozzo’s desk. “Tony called out sick again, Gibbs. Said he wasn’t quite a hundred percent yet.”

 Jethro finished off his second morning cup of java without taking a breath. Three days, DiNozzo had been missing from work for three days. That in itself was cause for concern. DiNozzo hadn’t missed a day of work in the two years he’d been with the agency. Couple that with the fact that he had not once called his team supervisor as required by policy had Jethro thinking there was more going on than a mere stomach bug. And since his gut instincts were rarely wrong, it was time to take a ride out to DiNozzo’s neck of the woods.

 “Let’s go, Kate. Some of us still have work to do.” Without waiting to see if his instructions were followed, Jethro collected his gun from his desk and headed for the elevators. The doors opened within seconds of him pushing the button, but he found his way blocked by a couple lingering on the threshold. “Move it or lose it,” he muttered and shouldered his way past the man. He gave a nod of satisfaction when Kate did the same.

 “Gibbs? Kate?”

 Jethro forcibly halted the instinctive clenching of his jaw upon hearing the man’s voice. It was none other than Chris Pacci.

 He halted the doors from closing with his fists and frowned at the agent. “What?” he rudely demanded.

 “Uh.” Chris nervously indicated the woman at his side. “Uh, Gibbs, Kate, I’d like to introduce you to my fiancée, Ashley Henderson.”

 Stunned by the news, Jethro abruptly exited the elevator and allowed the doors to close behind him, never once checking to see if Kate had followed him out or not. “Fiancée? _She’s_ your fiancée?” He examined the non-descript female clutching Pacci’s left arm. Fiancée? Did Pacci actually introduce the woman as his intended bride-to-be?

 Jethro pinched the bridge of his nose. What the fuck was going on? Wasn’t Pacci gay? Weren’t he and DiNozzo . . .

 The light bulb suddenly clicked on in his head.

 Pacci engaged. DiNozzo sick.

 “When did you find time to get a fiancée?” Jethro stared hard at Pacci and felt a small sense of satisfaction when the man hurriedly dropped his gaze to the floor. “And what about DiNozzo? Have you introduced your _fiancée_ to him? I’m sure _he’d_ like to meet her.”

 Jethro aimed a false smile at the mousey-brunette standing next to Pacci. “Oh wait, I forgot. DiNozzo’s out sick. In fact, he’s been under the weather for the past three days.” Redirecting his anger at the rightful party, he did nothing to hide his grin when Pacci took a step back in fear. “Yep, three days. Oh, by the way, exactly how long have the two of you been engaged? Not three days, huh?”

 “Chris? Where are we going? Is something wrong?”

 Jethro allowed his grin to grow in size as he watched the bespectacled bookworm of a woman stumble after her fleeing husband-to-be. You bastard, he mentally cursed. Did you really think I’d let you get by with your little charade? Fiancée? What a crock of shit. He banged his fists against his thighs. What? Can’t accept the fact that you like taking it up the ass? You’d rather live a lie than acknowledge you’re in love with a man?

 The image of DiNozzo’s face halted his mental tirade. Taking a deep breath, Jethro forced his hands open and wiped his palms dry on his jacket. DiNozzo was sick alright, heart-sick, a feeling he knew all too well.

 Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and Jethro couldn’t stop his hands from curling into fists once more. If Pacci’s cowardly defection had cost him a valuable agent not to mention a potential ---  

 Turning abruptly, he glared at Kate. “What?” He deliberately dropped his gaze to the slender fingers plucking at his elbow. “Do you have a death wish or something, Agent Todd?”

 Undaunted, Kate shrugged her shoulders and hit the button for the elevator. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t shooting an agent in cold blood while on the premises against the rules?”

 Jethro followed her gaze down his arm to his hand.

 “Damn.”  

 Jethro released his grip on his weapon and followed Kate into the elevator. He punched the button for the first floor before stating distinctly, “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. I’ll let you know.”

 The elevator doors closed, blocking the sight of his feral grin.

 

**Condolences**

 

 Jethro stared hard at the gold-plated numbers nailed to the front door of DiNozzo’s condo. It wasn’t like they held the answers to the questions rattling around in his head. They were just single digits, the sum of which was of no real importance, simply the number on a door that denied him access to his main objective.

  _1 - 1 - 2_

 Jethro banged on the door again.

  _1 - 1 - 2_

 One plus one equals two. Had that been how it was? DiNozzo and Pacci together, living under the same roof? Had DiNozzo invited Pacci into his home, into his life, into his heart? Was that heart now bleeding, struggling to make sense of its current demise? Jethro sucked in a breath. Or worse yet, was it contemplating a fresh start in a different town, hoping new friends would erase the misery, ease the loss?

 This time Jethro not only pounded on the door but yelled as well. “DiNozzo! I know you’re in there. Open this damn door.”

 “Actually, he’s not in there,” a voice fresh from the West Coast answered him. “He’s out back, in the courtyard.”

 “And just how do I get to the courtyard?” Jethro rounded on the petite blonde standing one door down. She was probably all of twenty years old if a day and wearing nothing except two scraps of material that were more not there than there. “I’m waiting,” he growled.

 The blonde dropped her overflowing basket of colorful lingerie on the floor and planted both hands on her ample hips. “Well, so am I,” she shot back. “You tell me who you are and what you want with Tony, and maybe I’ll tell you where to go.”

 Jethro lifted an eyebrow. He knew exactly where Miss Beach Bunny Bimbo 2004 wanted him to go.

 “Name’s Gibbs. I came to check on DiNozzo,” he stated.

 “Why?”

 Jethro frowned. “Why what?”

 Was this _child_ actually questioning his motives? Who was she? DiNozzo’s personal guard dog? He took note of her diminutive stature. Make that guard puppy.

 “Why are you here?” the miniature bulldog insisted. “I’ve never seen you ‘round here before, and I know _all_ of Tony and Chris’ friends. You are so not one of them.”

 Well, that answered that, Jethro mused. It had indeed been one plus one equals two. Chris and DiNozzo had lived together.

 Jethro felt a swift jab of pain in his gut. He remembered the anguish of Shannon and Kelly’s deaths, of walking through the empty house they’d shared as a family, reminded at every turn of what he’d lost. It had to be the same with DiNozzo. He and Pacci had been together at least a year, maybe two. It had to hurt, and knowing DiNozzo like he did, it was a hurt he’d keep hidden even if it killed him.

 “I work with Tony,” he explained with a little less scorn and a lot more warmth. “He’s been out sick for three days. I came to see if he’s okay.”

 The blonde examined him from head to toe before staring him straight in the eye. She must have seen something she liked, because the next thing Jethro knew he was being hauled by the arm toward a locked security gate several doors down from DiNozzo’s.

 “I’m Kallie, Kallie with a K not a C like that detective on _Miami CSI_.”

 Jethro nodded and tried hard not to stare as ‘Kallie with a K’ liberated a set of keys from inside the bodice of her swimsuit. To say the girl was exceedingly endowed was an understatement at the least. “How long have you known Tony?” he asked once he got his tongue unstuck from the roof of his mouth.

 Kallie blinded him with her Colgate-white smile. “Me and Tony? We’ve been friends like, forever. He and Chris were the first people I met when I moved here from L.A. two years ago. They’re like my big brothers, always watching out for me, making sure I don’t date any creeps.” She tugged on a ringlet of bleached hair after unlocking the gate. “I just love them both. They’re so totally cute together, especially when they start making eyes at each other.” She glanced sideways at Jethro. “Do I even need to tell you what happens next?”

 Tucking her keys back inside her top, Kallie giggled. “Good thing I’m a heavy sleeper. Those walls of theirs,” she waggled her eyebrows, “they do a lot of shaking, if you know what I mean.”

 Jethro knew what she meant but was unable to acknowledge the fact. He was still hung up on the notion of DiNozzo and Pacci making eyes at each other. DiNozzo, he could understand. The man was a card-carrying Casanova with a capital C. Pacci, on the other hand . . . Jethro shuddered. He couldn’t see the straight-laced, by the book Pacci making goo-goo eyes at anybody, let alone DiNozzo. It was just too bizarre.

 “By the way, have you seen Chris lately?”

 Jethro instantly regretted his question the second the words left his mouth. DiNozzo’s state of affairs was nobody’s business but his own, and here he’d unintentionally planted the seed of his loss in his neighbor’s hopefully none-too-swift brain.

 ‘Kallie with a K’ wasn’t your typical all boobs no brains blonde. She swiftly connected the dots.

 Clutching Jethro’s arm, she turned to him and moaned, “Oh no. Please tell me it’s not true. Tell me Chris is away on business, you know like he does sometimes. I mean I know Tony’s been looking like a little lost puppy dog, but he gets that way when Chris goes---” She halted her ramblings and intently searched Jethro’s face. “Oh God, poor Tony. He’s gotta be totally heartbroken. He was like so in love with Chris. I’m talking major, major as in as long as you both shall live, love.”

 Jethro nearly fell flat on his face when Kallie unexpectedly hit him square in the back with both her hands. “Go to him,” she tearfully instructed. “He’s right over there, by the swing. See him?”

 Jethro looked but was momentarily blinded by the harsh sunlight invading the darkened passageway. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust and once they did, they immediately zeroed in on DiNozzo.

 DiNozzo was sitting alone on a black, wrought-iron bench. The bench, along with several others, faced a wooden swing hanging from the low-lying branches of an ancient oak tree. It was like a scene from _Gone with the Wind_. All it needed was a plantation home in the background.

 Jethro snorted. Now he was thinking like DiNozzo, comparing real life to a damn movie.

 “You’ll let me know if Tony needs anything, right?”

 Jethro pulled his gaze away from the dejected way DiNozzo was leaning forward with his head in his hands. It was a position he’d assumed many a night alone in Kelly’s empty bedroom.

 “Right,” he answered. “You’ll be the first to know.”

 Jethro left the distraught ‘Kallie with a K’ standing in the shadows. She was immediately forgotten the instant DiNozzo looked up at him.

 “Uh, Boss,” he weakly stammered, “I can explain.”

 Jethro took a seat on the bench DiNozzo occupied and stretched out his legs. “Explain what? You’ve been sick, right? What’s to explain?” He ignored the confused stare aimed in his direction, and instead, contemplated the thick, sprawling branches of the tree in front of him. “Nice tree. Good spot to do some thinking.”

 From the corner of his eye, he could see DiNozzo lean his head back and gaze up at the giant oak. “Yeah, it’s definitely that.” DiNozzo closed his eyes and sighed, the sound of which had nothing to do with the philosophical contemplation of life’s mysteries.

 Lifting his arm so that it rested on the back of the bench behind DiNozzo, Jethro patiently waited out the silence. It was hard as hell, and his jaw soon began to ache. If DiNozzo didn’t spill his guts soon . . . .

 “Uh, Boss?”

 Jethro turned his head slightly, just enough to see DiNozzo’s face and the faint track of tears drying on his cheek. “Yeah, Tony?”

 “Was Pacci at work today?” DiNozzo fiddled with his left wrist, drawing Jethro’s attention to the silver link bracelet he wore there.

 “Yeah, he was there. Had his fiancée with him.” Jethro saw no reason to pull punches. The sooner DiNozzo got over this, the sooner he’d move on with . . . .

 Slamming the door, locking the door, bolting the damn thing on that particular thought, Jethro shifted awkwardly on the bench. “She’s not exactly who I pictured Pacci with. Wrong hair, wrong eyes.” He thumped Tony on the shoulder. “Wrong sex.”

 “Oh.”

 Jethro again held his silence, and thankfully for his jaw, he didn’t have long to wait.

 “Me and Chris,” Tony quietly announced, “we spent many nights on that swing. It was his favorite spot to relax after a hard day at work.”

 “I can understand that,” Jethro agreed. “Looks like a good spot to unwind, almost as good as a basement.” Forcing a grin, he looked over at DiNozzo, hoping he’d caught the underlying meaning of his first statement.

 He had.

 Tony turned and stared at him. “You understand? You mean that? You _really_ understand?”

 Jethro shut down the growl of frustration rising up from his gut. “I said I understood, didn’t I? What part of that don’t _you_ understand?”

 Straightening in his seat, Tony faced front. “Sorry, Boss. I thought maybe you wouldn’t, you being one of the few, one of the proud. A lot of gung-ho military types don’t always see eye-to-eye with guys like me and Chris.” Tony snorted mirthlessly. “Can’t count the number of times their _opinions_ were expressed physically instead of verbally. Sorry I included you in their ranks.”

 Jethro tapped DiNozzo on the back of the head. “That’s for thinking I’m an asshole.” He hit him again. “That’s for keeping me in the dark. And,” he hit him for the third time, “that’s for not speaking to me personally when you called in sick. It’s a rule, DiNozzo. Don’t break it again.”

 Managing a weak smile, Tony rubbed his head. “Gotcha ya, Boss. Talk to the man. Unzip the lips. Spill the beans. Share the---”

 Jethro chuckled when his hand met air. DiNozzo could move fast when he wanted. “Okay, enough already. I see you get my drift.”

 A comfortable silence settled between the two of them, so much so that he was quite the grumpy camper when their time together was disrupted by the appearance of, none other than, ‘Kallie with a K.’ The girl, however, was smart enough to decipher the reason behind his glare.

 “Thought you looked like you could do with some liquid refreshment. Enjoy.” She hurriedly handed over two of the three beers she carried and headed back in the direction she came.

 “Kallie?” Tony reached out a hand to the departing blonde.

 “Let her go,” Jethro instructed. “She’s got clothes to fold.”

 Tony looked at him curiously. “And you would know this how?”

 Jethro took a healthy swallow of his beer. “I know a lot of stuff, DiNozzo.” He lightly touched the back of DiNozzo’s head, pausing an extra second to assess the soft texture of the hair resting on his nape. “Best you remember that.”

 Tony noisily gulped down a third of his beer. “Seems like I’ll be remembering quite a bit of stuff today, Boss.”

 Jethro smiled. “Good.”

 If DiNozzo remembered this day, maybe, just maybe, he might stay a little longer with the agency, with the team, with . . . .

 Jethro finished his beer. Okay, enough with ignoring the obvious.

 He liked Tony, liked him a lot.

 Jethro took another swallow of beer and for a minute savored not the alcohol but instead savored the ease in which his brain smoothly shifted gears once the truth was acknowledged.

 Tony, not DiNozzo. Tony.

 He grinned.

 Maybe, just maybe, with some effort on his part, Tony would stay a little longer with _him_.

 It was worth a try.

  

**Invitation**

  

“You want me to do what?”

 Jethro hooked a second roll of packaged insulation and, using his utility knife, slit open the plastic covering. “I want you to stuff that,” he pointed to several strips of insulation laid out on the attic floor, “into those spaces.”  He then indicated the area to his left. “And don’t, I repeat, **don’t** step off the plywood I put down. You’ll go straight through the ceiling.”

 Tony shoved back the pair of safety goggles he wore and glared at Jethro. “I’m not that stupid, Gibbs,” he huffed.

 “Didn’t say you were, DiNozzo.” Hiding his grin, Jethro pulled his gloves on tighter and began the process of unrolling the new strips of insulation.

 It had been three months since Tony and Pacci’s break-up, three rather long and trying months for both he and Ducky. Simply put, Tony did not cope well with loss, and once he knew Jethro was okay with his homosexuality, he’d unloaded his grief big time, spending countless hours with him and Ducky in the morgue. If they’d heard the story of how he and Chris had gotten together once, they’d heard it a hundred times. Probably could quote parts of it.

 Jethro glanced over at Tony, making sure he stood squarely on the plywood walkway.

 It wasn’t that he minded listening to the fairy-tale account of their relationship. He’d simply locked his jaw shut, stuffed his hands inside his pockets and forced himself to listen. But he had drawn the line when it came to the intimate details of their sex life. Hell, he didn’t exactly like Pacci on a good day and to know he’d never be able to walk past the utility closet next to Abby’s lab without thinking of the guy on his knees giving Tony the blowjob of his life did nothing to improve his opinion.

 Jethro pulled a rag from the back pocket of his jeans and wiped the sweat from his face. “You okay over there, DiNozzo?”

 Tony mumbled something undecipherable.

 “What was that?” Jethro tackled the area over the master bath, stuffing insulation into every open nook and cranny.

 “I said it was hot, Gibbs. Damn hot.”

 Rolling out the last strip of fiberglass, Jethro grinned. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Tony was regretting his offer to help with the re-insulation of the house.

 “You ready for a break?” he asked.

 “Yes! Oh, God, yes!”

 Tony wasted no time in shucking off his goggles and gloves. Jethro felt his mouth go dry when the next things to come off were the man’s long-sleeve shirt and tee. He suddenly had a clear cut view of territory he had no business enjoying except in the privacy of his dreams.

 Reaching for the small ice cooler he’d hauled upstairs, Jethro dug out a bottle of water and emptied it in five seconds flat. Unfortunately his mouth and throat remained parched.

 “Wanna share some of that with me?”

 Jethro handed over a bottle, his eyes glued to the rivulets of sweat slowly meandering down Tony’s naked chest and washboard abs. “You know there’s fiberglass floating in the air, right? You might want to rethink putting that shirt of yours back on.”

 Jethro closed his eyes against the sight of Tony pouring the remainder of his water over his head and chest.

 “I’m good,” his companion stated.

 “Hell, yes, you’re good,” Jethro muttered gruffly. “Good enough to---”

 He abruptly turned his back on Tony.

 This was insane. Yeah, he liked the guy and yeah, as absurd as it sounded, he’d even gone as far as contemplating a relationship with him. Of course it would mean breaking his cardinal rule number 12, but damn if he wasn’t getting tired of his rules, especially that one. He cursed it every night he crawled into bed and had nothing to hold onto except the cheap-ass pillow he’d purchased at Walmart after his last divorce.

 Adding to the absurdity was the fact that he, at this late stage of life, was seriously considering a major detour in regards to his sexuality. He’d never thought of himself as gay or even bi, but as it was with most men, _if_ they were honest, he _had_ entertained thoughts of sex with another man. Now those thoughts centered around one specific man.

 Jethro turned his gaze back to Tony.

 Again, yeah, he liked Tony, but did that also mean he was ready to go to bed with the guy? Was he really ready to take it up the ass?

 Jethro frowned when his mind shied away from the image of Tony nailing him to the mattress. Going belly down wasn’t in his nature and could possibly cause problems for them both, if, that is, they actually got around to hitting the sheets. Knowing his luck, he’d screw things up way before that, which was probably the reason his mind was baulking at the thought of Tony fucking him.

 Needless to say, his mind could also be putting on the brakes simply because it realized he wouldn’t commit until his heart was on board one hundred percent. He’d already lost two thirds of his soul with the deaths of his first wife and child, and the three subsequent women he thought could fill the void became innocent casualties of his miscalculations. He refused to subject Tony to the same misery and hatred he saw reflected in the eyes of his ex-wives.

 There was another reason, one that probably made more sense, for his gray matter going on the blink, and that was the fact that Tony would, without hesitation, obey rule number 12 and not even show him the time of day. He had trained the kid well, not to mention had paraded redhead after redhead before him on a regular basis. Why was he even wasting his time contemplating a future that _had_ no future? Tony would not be looking in his direction even if he started waving the proverbial rainbow flag at him.

 Side-lining what was seriously becoming a constant state of frustration for him, Jethro cleared his throat. “Seriously, DiNozzo, you’ll be itching like mad if you don’t put your shirt back on.”

 “Whatever you say, Boss. You’re the expert.” Tony grabbed another bottle of water, emptying it quickly before shrugging back into his sweat-damp clothes. He made a show of pulling on his gloves and goggles and grinned when Jethro rolled his eyes at his antics. “Lay it on me, Gibbs,” he instructed, throwing his arms wide. “I’m yours until oh-nine hundred tomorrow morning.”

 Jethro sliced open another roll of insulation and handed off a strip. “And what exactly happens tomorrow at oh-nine hundred?”

 “Work, Gibbs.” Mimicking James Cagney, Tony swaggered forward in perfect mobster style. “I’ve got this tyrant of a boss, ya see. A real stickler for rules. Hates it when bums like me show up late.”

 “DiNozzo,” Jethro warned. “Get back to work.”

 Tony sketched a smart salute while back-pedaling. “Aye, aye, Boss. Whatever you say, Boss. You Chief, me Indian. You Kemosabee, me Tonto. You Batman, me Rob--- whoa, whoa, GIBBS!!!!!”

 Jethro hung his head and groaned when he heard the sound of a foot breaking through the ceiling. Maybe he should rethink this _together_ thing.

 “Uh, Gibbs? Uh, Boss? Guess what happened on the way to the Batcave?”

 Maybe he should just rethink Tony.

 Jethro grinned.

 

  **Disclosure**

 

 “Hate to state the obvious, Gibbs, but _this_ is a little girl’s room.”

 Jethro examined the ceiling and calculated the amount of sheetrock he’d need to fix the huge, gaping hole. “Ya think?”

 Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Tony wandered around Kelly’s room, stopping every now and then to examine a doll, a book, a drawing taped to the dresser’s mirror.

 Tony was right. This was a little girl’s room. It just wasn’t _his_ little girl’s room, not anymore.

 Jethro glanced out the nearest window to the swing set in the backyard.  

 At first, he’d left the house exactly as it was following Shannon and Kelly’s deaths, not so much because he wanted the place to be a shrine to their memories, but because he was too busy to deal with the disposal of their personal belongings. He’d had a murderer to track and kill, not to mention re-enlist with Uncle Sam so he wouldn’t go completely insane from the gut-wrenching pain of his loss.

 The days had turned into months and then into years, and it became easier to shut the doors on certain rooms and live out of his duffle bag downstairs in the basement. All any Marine really needed was a place to lay his head, and the old cot he’d hauled down there ages ago worked just fine.

 It wasn’t until he joined NCIS and met Jenny that he again took an active interest in his home and in his personal life. For some unfathomable reason women didn’t appreciate going to a motel for sex after dinner, and they certainly didn’t take kindly to sharing a glass of wine with him while perched on a rickety stool staring at the unfinished frame of a boat. Not exactly the setting for romance had been the frequent complaint, and he’d finally gotten the message when the criticisms were coupled with slaps to the face.

 Okay, okay. Time to move on.

 It had taken him exactly three wives, and consequentially three divorces, before he finished remodeling the entire house. All of the ex’s had reluctantly agreed with his request not only for a pre-nuptial but also with the suggestion they reside somewhere that wasn’t haunted by the ghosts of his first marriage. His house was just that, his, and until Tony, there hadn’t been anyone special he wanted stepping foot across the threshold.

 Shifting his gaze to the giant stuffed lion and lioness vying for space in the handcrafted rocker sitting next to the bed, Jethro felt a reluctant smile tugging on the corner of his mouth.

 By the time he tackled Kelly’s room, his colleague and friend, Tobias Fornell, had been married to the second of his ex-wives, Diane, for three years. Their daughter, Emily, adored sleeping in Kelly’s room when visits to that ‘mean old papa bear’ lasted way past her bedtime. Of course, she had no clue that the visits were actually free-flowing, whiskey-laden counseling sessions for her soon-to-be divorced daddy. Her main focus was the adoption of each and every one of Kelly’s stuffed animals and dolls. Once that task was completed, it was only natural for her to leave a treasured book or toy behind; the room was hers, after all, and she’d be returning sooner than later.

 Unhooking his tape measure from his belt, Jethro climbed the ladder Tony had set up for him and took measurements of the ceiling. He knew one of the many secrets of his past was about to see the light of day, and he wasn’t sure if he was glad about it or not. Some details of his life were easy to share with Tony and some weren’t.

 “Gibbs, this is you.” Tony held up a framed photograph, and then indicated the room with a sweep of his hand. “You have a daughter?” He moved closer and lightly punched him on the thigh. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter? Is her mother the golf club wielding wife number two? Or the swinging baseball bat wife number---”

 “I don’t.”

 Jethro looked down and smiled half-heartedly at the look of utter confusion on Tony’s face.

 “Huh?”

 Jethro closed Tony’s open mouth with the metal tip of his measuring tape. “I don’t have a daughter, DiNozzo. She’s dead.”

 “Oh shit.” Tony reacted to the news by collapsing down on the bed but, as soon as he figured out where he’d planted his butt, he shot off it like a bullet leaving a gun. “Sorry, Boss. Didn’t mean to---” He hastily smoothed out the wrinkles he’d created on the bedspread. “There. Good as before.”

 Tony then realized he was still holding the picture of Jethro and his daughter and nearly tripped over his own feet returning it to its rightful place. “Maybe I should . . . uh . . . maybe I’ll head back upstairs. Or better yet, maybe I’ll get us some water. You’re thirsty, right?”

 Swinging his head first to the left and then to the right, Tony carefully backed away from the dresser. His escape was cut short by the solid presence of a body blocking the doorway.

 Jethro grabbed Tony by the shoulder and walked him back into the room. “You don’t have to go. It’s not a shrine, Tony. Just a room.”

 “But, but,” Tony indicated the collection of stuffed bears spread across the bed, “but it’s your _daughter’s_ room. You sure you want me here?”

 Jethro ruffled the hair on the back of Tony’s head. He enjoyed doing that a whole lot more than slapping. Now, the slapping had its place, especially at work, but here in the privacy of his home, here he could indulge his secret hedonistic urges and touch as much as he wanted.

 Jethro clipped his tape measure back on his belt. “Yeah, Tony, I want you here.”

 Opening the nearest window, he took a seat on its sill and examined the photograph Tony discovered earlier. “Kelly and her mother died while I was in Iraq,” he began. “The official police report stated they were killed in a car accident. The unofficial report is an entirely different matter. Seems my wife was in the wrong place at the wrong time and witnessed something she shouldn’t. A hit was put out on her. Kelly ---” Jethro swallowed the lump in his throat before carefully placing the photograph back on the dresser. He hated discussing Shannon and Kelly, but this was Tony he was talking to. If there was even the remotest chance of them hooking up, then certain closets needed to be opened, their ghosts unearthed and their stories told.

 “Jethro?”

 Lightly touching the hand gripping his shoulder, Jethro forced himself to continue. “Kelly was in the car with her mother when the hit when down. I’m told she died instantly.” His lower jaw locked shut when his memory supplied him with a slideshow of pictures of the accident. The burnt remains of his family would forever haunt him.

 “Tell me they caught the bad guys.” Tony knelt in front of Jethro. “Tell me they caught ‘em and fried their sorry asses.”

 Standing, Jethro pulled Tony upright. He glanced a final time at the picture of him and his daughter, and a feral grin slid into place on his face. “Word is the dirtbags involved are no longer breathing,” he answered.

 Tony examined his face closely before nodding. “One day I hope you’ll tell me the details of that little encounter.”

 Jethro did some of his own examining, and once again, liked what he saw. “Let’s go grab a bite to eat, and I’ll tell you about Shannon and Kelly.”

 The light of Tony’s smile broke through the cloud of grief that always seemed to settle down on his heart when he thought of his family. It was a most welcome feeling.

 “Come on,” Jethro said, throwing his arm across the younger man’s shoulders. “Let’s see if there’s anything edible in my fridge.”

 “But, Gibbs,” Tony grumbled. He suddenly faced Jethro, halting their exit. “The deal was, I help you, you feed me a rib-eye steak straight from your grill. Remember?”

 Tony poked Jethro in the chest. “There better be a steak in that fridge of yours. A steak, some salad, a baked potato or two. Maybe some beer.” He poked Jethro in the chest a second time. “No, not maybe. There better be some beer in that fridge of yours. I’m thirsty.”

 “Or else what, DiNozzo?” Jethro grabbed the finger denting his sternum. He held it and its four associates a little longer than was proper and grinned when Tony became aware of the fact.

 “Uh.” Tony stared at his hand and then at his boss, and the confusion written on his face only endeared him more to Jethro.

 “Or else what?” He released his hold on Tony’s hand and raised an enquiring eyebrow when it remained hanging in the air.  

 “Or else I make do with whatever’s in your fridge?” Tony weakly offered. Seconds passed before he realized he hadn’t lowered his hand. Grimacing, he swiftly tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans.

 Hiding the grin that seemed permanently stuck on his face, Jethro led the way out of the room. “What’s rule number 20, DiNozzo?”

 The answer came without hesitation. “Never question your superior unless you know for damn sure you have a good reason to do so,” Tony quoted.

 Jethro stopped midway down the hall. He turned and invaded his companion’s personal space, inhaling deeply. Damn, if the kid didn’t smell good, sweat and all.

 “Are you questioning my promise to feed you steak?” He grinned at the blush that traveled up Tony’s neck and suffused his cheeks.

 “Not me, Boss. Your word is as good as gold. Solid as a rock. Money in the bank. Constant as . . . ”

 Jethro growled a warning. For a moment Tony looked like he was going to take a step back but instead, held his ground. Jethro nodded with pride. Good, he’s not afraid of whatever this is between us.

 “ . . . the moon and the stars. Dead on. Accurate to a---”

 He slapped the back of Tony’s head, halting the inane rambling. “Can it, DiNozzo. I get the picture. ”

 “Do you, Boss?” This time it was Tony invading Jethro’s personal space. “ ‘Cause, from where I’m standing, which, by the way, is mind-boggling, to say the least.” Tony brushed a nervous hand through his hair. “ ‘Cause, from where I’m standing, you’re asking me to ignore rule number 12.”

 Eyes shadowed with uncertainty pinned Jethro in place.

 “Is that what you’re doing, Boss? Asking me to ignore one of _your_ rules?”

 “And if I am?” Jethro briefly gripped Tony’s left shoulder before turning away and walking toward the kitchen. “You got a problem with that?” He grinned when he heard Tony’s whisper of disbelief.

 “Me? Have a problem with you and _me_? You’re kidding, right? It’s like a dream come true. Or better yet, like ‘When Harry Met Sally.’ Two friends discovering they actually love each other but only after years of misunderstandings, failed relationships . . . .”

 Rolling his eyes, Jethro pulled open the fridge door and started gathering the items he’d purchased at the grocery store the day before. “I swear, DiNozzo, if you start howling like that poodle-hair Meg Ryan, I’ll do more than slap you on the back of the head.”

 “Don’t worry, Boss,” Tony assured him. He claimed the spot next to Jethro at the sink and grinned like a kid with a brand new toy when their hips bumped against each other. “It’s at least the second date before I start howling.”

 The thought of what exactly would make Tony howl had Jethro tightening his grip on the knife he’d chosen to chop the salad vegetables. It was either that or cut his hand off, because all of a sudden the need to pull Tony close and shut that sassy mouth of his was threatening his iron-clad control.

 He cleared his throat. “If and that’s a big _if_ there’s a second date, I’ll keep that in mind, DiNozzo, okay?”

 Tony claimed a sliver of cucumber and popped it in his mouth. “Okay, Boss, but don’t wait too long. Your old friend, Burley, called me the other day, and it wasn’t exactly NCIS business he wanted to discuss.”

 Jethro drove the knife, into the wood surface of the cutting board. Stan was a fucking idiot if he thought he was going to cut in on his action. Tony was his agent, and nobody, not even bulldog Burley, was going to steal him away.

 “Uh, Boss? The steaks?”

 Peeling his fingers from the knife’s handle, Jethro placed both hands, palm down, on the counter and took several deep breaths. “Fire up the grill, DiNozzo,” he hoarsely instructed. “I’ll be back as soon as I make a phone call.”

 Jethro snatched the cordless off the wall and strode out of the kitchen and down the stairs leading to the basement. He viciously punched in a number he knew by heart. “Tom? Gibbs. Remember that Burley kid you asked me to take on a couple of years ago? Well, it’s time to return the favor. I hear the man’s up for re-assignment. How’s Japan sound? Yeah, you could say it’s a bit remote. Is that a problem? ‘Cause if it is, I’m sure the Sec Nav wouldn’t mind helping me, especially after I told him about that time you and his wife . . . what’s that? You will? Good deal, Tom. Knew I could count on you.”

 Jethro jogged back up the stairs. Before re-entering the kitchen, he took a moment to watch Tony unobserved. The kid had ignored his order to fire up the grill and was currently chopping the remainder of the vegetables.

 “I don’t smell any burning coals, DiNozzo,” Jethro commented as he stepped inside the kitchen.

 “You think I’m going to touch _your_ grill?” Tony asked in mock horror. “Think again, Boss Man.” Laying the knife down, he examined his nails. “Besides, I just got these babies trimmed and buffed. No way am I going anywhere near something as remotely dirty as charcoal.” He waved a hand at Gibbs before scooping up the sliced onions and tossing them in a brightly colored ceramic bowl. “You grill, I chop. Okay?”

 Jethro grabbed Tony by his shoulders. The muscles beneath his hands were solid, and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy the hidden strength. “Okay, you’re on.” He ruffled Tony’s hair then stepped aside. “I grill, you chop and clean.”

 “Hey! Who said anything about cleaning?” Tony protested.

 “Me Chief, you Indian.” Jethro pulled the steaks out of the fridge and walked toward the back door. “That’s what you said, right?”

 Tony mumbled something about “. . . bet Tonto never had to do dishes” as he sliced open a large red bell pepper.

 Ignoring the petulant objection, Jethro chuckled. He was the boss, after all. Tonto would do the dishes or else.

 DiNozzo did indeed do the dishes without a single complaint while he, on the other hand, spent the remainder of the evening fantasizing about a pair of wet, soapy hands and the white t-shirt they managed to thoroughly soak with so much water that it soon became transparent.

 Tonto was one sneaky Indian.

 

  **Dead Man Talking**

  

“Is there anyone _you_ need to call, DiNozzo?” Jethro harshly demanded.

 Christopher Pacci was dead, brutally murdered, and Kate’s questioning the need to work late had not only ticked him off but made him a thousand times madder than he already was. He struck out at the person closest to him.

 “No, Boss,” Tony quietly answered. He steadfastly met Jethro’s gaze, his calm voice belying the fresh wave of sorrow reflected in his eyes. “No calls.”

 Jethro watched Tony shoulder his backpack and walk away. The man never glanced to his left nor to his right and certainly didn’t look back at him. A swift, hard jab of the elevator button was the only tell-tale sign of his emotional state, and Jethro felt the blow as if it had been aimed straight at his chest.

 Tony was carrying enough grief to sink a ship, and to make matters worse, he was now bearing the brunt of Jethro’s guilt over dismissing Pacci’s earlier request for help on a cold case. No wonder the kid wouldn’t look at him.

 Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 Jethro jerked open the main drawer of Pacci’s desk with so much force it caused one of the side drawers to pop open accidentally. He glanced down at its contents and was stunned to find a picture of Chris and Tony peaking out from beneath several local phone directories. He abandoned his current investigation to pull the photo free of its hiding place.

 “Ah, hell.”

 The picture was of the two men sitting on the exact same bench he and Tony had occupied not less than six months ago. Jethro could tell from the angle of the shot that the person taking the photo had either been sitting in the swing or standing directly in front of them.

 “Wonder if it was ‘Kallie with a K,’” he mused aloud.

 Jethro snapped on the desk lamp and took a closer look at the photo. Both men had their arms slung around each other’s shoulders and were leaning so close together it was almost impossible to tell where one man stopped and the other started. Tony had a thumb hooked into Pacci’s undone belt buckle, which was, no doubt, the reason for the playful glint is his eyes. Pacci, himself, had his hand resting high on Tony’s leg, close enough to be the reason Tony was sporting a noticeable boner.

 Jethro turned the picture frame over and swiftly removed the photograph, tucking it inside his jacket. Right or wrong, he was confiscating the photo. It was blatant proof of the two agents’ past relationship, and he sure as hell wasn’t leaving it around for someone else to find. Besides, Tony might want the photo for old time’s sake.

 Jethro tightened his grip on the frame. He didn’t exactly care for the thought of Tony wanting the photograph, and even if he did want the darn thing, it sure as hell didn’t mean he was still carrying a torch for Pacci. Just meant Tony cared about an old friend and wanted a memento of a happier time in his life.

 Nothing wrong with that, right?

 Jethro tossed the frame in the trash and grunted at the sound of breaking glass.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Tony gruffly complained upon opening the door of his apartment. This time his voice was not as calm. In fact, Jethro swore he could hear the tears the shadows were preventing him from seeing.

 “Kate was a bitch for saying what she said, and . . . .” Tony rubbed his nose in an attempt to disguise a sniffle. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

 “I’m not here for that,” Jethro explained as he stepped inside the vacated doorway. He followed Tony’s retreating form through the foyer and into the living room. The unmistakable odor of alcohol hit his nose the second his foot crossed over the threshold.

 Damn. It was worse than he thought.

 He approached the couch and was in the process of clearing a space for himself when Tony growled and snatched up the shirt removed from the cushion. Jethro merely raised a questioning eyebrow and sat down.

 “It’s Pacci’s,” Tony huskily explained, carefully draping the shirt next to him on the armrest. Smoothing out the wrinkles, he grimaced. “I mean, it _was_ Pacci’s.”

 Jethro glanced at the photos and various personal items he’d unknowingly tossed on the coffee table. His frown deepened. Seemed his assessment of Tony’s readiness to pursue a new relationship was somewhat off base.

 “I agree. Kate was being a bitch,” Jethro steered the conversation back to Tony’s original comment. “But I’m guessing her intent wasn’t exactly as mean-spirited as you may think.”

 “Yeah, right,” Tony huffed. Drawing his legs up, he lowered his chin to his knees and gazed at the photos scattered across the glass surface of coffee table. Jethro followed his gaze and discovered the photograph he’d found in Pacci’s desk immediately following the agent’s death. “Do you think Kate knew? Knew about me and Chris?”

  _Me and Chris._ Jethro firmly berated himself when his heart took offense at Tony’s words. This wasn’t about him. This was about Tony, about supporting him during his time of sorrow.

 Tell me another one, his mind taunted.

 “Kate’s a trained profiler. What do _you_ think?” Jethro answered. He straightened his legs out, making sure his shoes didn’t touch a single belonging of Pacci’s as he moved a little closer to Tony.

 “Then why’d she say what she did? It was mean, downright mean.” Tony grabbed for the shirt he’d snatched away from Jethro earlier. He draped it over his knees and rubbed his cheek against it.

 Jethro gritted his teeth. He wasn’t here to discuss Kate, and to be honest, he wasn’t here to reminisce about Pacci, but if that’s what Tony needed, then so be it. He’d put a lid on his annoyance and talk about Kate and her smart-mouth remark until the cows came home.

 “I’m thinking Kate meant it as a distraction. Get your mind off of Pacci’s death.”

 Tony examined a loose thread dangling from the sleeve of the shirt. “It worked,” he grudgingly admitted. “I was so mad at her I almost forgot about Chris.” He wiped at the tears flooding his eyes. “Almost.”

 Lying his arm across the back of the couch, Jethro finally reached out and touched Tony on the shoulder. Before he knew it, and without conscious thought, his fingers found themselves tangled in the ends of his hair. The two of them sat like that in silence for nearly a quarter of an hour. It felt good, more than good.

 “Can I ask you a question, Jethro?”

 Finally, Jethro sighed. He’s finally calling me Jethro.

 “Yeah, Tony. What is it?”

 “Why didn’t you give the eulogy at Chris’ funeral?”

 Jethro avoided the reproachful look by busying himself with the wrinkled state of his slacks. “I couldn’t.”

 “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Tony challenged. “He was more than just an agent, Gibbs, as _you_ well know.”

 Jethro ran a hand through his hair and frowned. Back to Gibbs, are we?

 “I _know_ what Chris meant to you, and that’s one of the reasons I couldn’t give his eulogy. You and him, me and you . . .  I just couldn’t, Tony.” To extol the virtues of the ex-lover of the man he hoped would soon be his just didn’t sit right with him, no matter how he looked at it.

 Tony examined him for a full sixty seconds. Satisfied by whatever he saw, he then asked, “And the other reason?”

 Jethro yanked his feet off the coffee table and leaned forward. He didn’t want to see the acknowledgement of his guilt take shape on Tony’s face. He knew he was the reason Pacci was lying six feet under, and the sooner Tony called him on it, the better. “I don’t care what anyone says, it’s my fault Chris is dead.”

 Shooting to his feet, Jethro distanced himself from Tony by walking across the room to stand in front of a wide bank of curtained windows. He shoved open the curtains and stared out at the darkness. “I should have made the time to listen to him. It was obvious he needed help. Was written all over his face.”

 Jethro let the curtains fall close. His gaze dropped to the carpet beneath his feet. “But no, I was too focused on the case. As Ducky is fond of reminding me, I’m always about the job, solving the case, catching the bad guy.”

 Fingers bruised his biceps, and Jethro obeyed their command to turn around.

 “You weren’t the only one Pacci looked to for help,” Tony admitted. His eyes were dark with the shade of self-accusation. “I saw what you saw, saw his need for help.” Easing his grip, Tony shifted one hand higher and shook Jethro by his shoulder. “You weren’t the only one to ignore Chris. I _deliberately_ ignored him, shut him down cold after you left to go see Abby.” Tony swallowed hard. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. I let my feelings get in the way of the job and now a very decent man is dead.”

 Jethro followed Tony back to the couch and resumed his seat. He ignored the fact that they were sitting closer to each other. He also ignored the grateful sigh that greeted his kneading of tense neck muscles.

 “Let’s try and not make the same mistake again, agreed?” He halted the impromptu massage and slowly carded his fingers through Tony’s uncombed hair. “I’d prefer not losing another agent because of the job.”

 Because of the job, my rules, my obsessive fixation on that damn bastard.

 Rubbing a certain spot on his left upper chest, Jethro closed his eyes and laid his head back. A moment later, he surprisingly heard himself say, “Tell me about Chris. Tell me what it was that brought the two of you together.”

  

**Agent Missing**

  

Jethro strode toward Autopsy with only one purpose in mind, to collect any and all information that would lead him to Tony. His pace quickened. The team was hunting down a serial killer by the name of Joe Sacco, and in an effort to collect enough evidence to bring the bastard in, he’d given Tony permission to tail the man.

 Tail him alone.

 Without backup.

 Jethro slammed his fist into the wall. The pain radiating from his hand and up his arm was not enough to obliterate the pain suffocating his heart.

 “Damn it!”

 Tony was missing, abducted last night after following Sacco to _Hammersmith’s Saloon_.

 Jethro slammed his fist into the wall a second time. No way was he losing Tony to this homicidal bastard. No way in hell. Tony was his.

 Jethro rubbed his chest, but this time it wasn’t the healed bullet wound that ached like a bitch and demanded his attention. This was an ache he hadn’t felt in over two decades, and he’d be damned if it was going to take him down the path of emotional destruction again. Been there, done that. Refuse to go there again.

 Entering Autopsy, Jethro found Ducky staring at a collection of x-rays.

 “I reviewed Corporal Cohen’s autopsy results from 2002,” Ducky immediately explained. “His body tissue had high concentrations of insect venom.” Moving to a nearby table, he examined an open file. “Honey bees to be exact.”

 Jethro approached the wall-mounted array of view boxes and searched the films for hidden answers. “Did it kill him?”

 “Unfortunately, no. Our young friend starved to death.”

 Jethro exchanged places with his friend and gazed at the documents littering the stainless steel autopsy table. The words blurred before his eyes, replaced by the lifeless image of Tony’s emaciated body. He stumbled slightly as the pain in his chest drove his heart into a rhythm that threatened his continued existence.

 Tony wasn’t dead. Tony wasn’t dead. Tony wasn’t dead. The words looped repeatedly in his head but did nothing to calm the furor in his heart.

 Ducky's voice pulled him back from the abyss.

 “And judging by the fat and muscle tissue loss, it happened over a period of weeks, if not months.”

 Taking a deep breath, Jethro swallowed the bile that had flooded his mouth. He then directed his brain to process Ducky's statement. Weeks, months . . . time. He’d been given the gift of time.

 Jethro felt his knees nearly buckle with relief. “That’s the first good news I’ve heard all day.”

 “Huh?”

 Ducky looked at him as if he had lost his mind. If only you knew, Jethro thought.

 Ducky continued to stare which forced Jethro to explain, “It means there’s a chance Tony and Atlas are still alive.”

 “You’ll find them, Jethro,” Ducky asserted after a brief moment of silence.

 Jethro heard the doubt in his friend’s statement. It was the same doubt he’d seen reflected in Kate’s eyes, in Magee’s and even in Abby’s. Sacco had murdered four Marines over an eight year period, his killing spree completely undetected until now. Were Atlas and Tony his next victims, and if so, would they live out their last days tortured by the lack of food and water while Sacco escaped into the night?

 Jethro gritted his teeth until they hurt.

 Not on my watch.

 Glancing at his friend, he asked, “That a question or a statement, Duck?” Not waiting to hear the answer, Jethro swiftly exited the room. Of all people, Ducky's doubt had wounded him to the core.

 He glanced back at the sliding glass doors whooshing closed behind him. Do you really think I won’t bring Tony home safe and sound? Do you really think this bastard is going to elude _me_?

 Jethro pictured the face frozen in time on the computer screen upstairs, and this time he verbalized his earlier thought.

 “Not on my watch, you dirtbag. Not on my watch.”

He clipped his holstered gun to his belt. Shifting his gaze, he focused it on Tony’s desk. I’m coming, he promised the missing owner of the empty chair. I’ll bring you home or else die trying.

“Gibbs?”

Kate indicated the vacant elevator.

With an abrupt nod of his head, Jethro acknowledged the summons. Slamming his desk drawer shut, he was almost to the elevator when Ducky appeared on the scene. One look at his friend’s face, and Jethro waved Kate on. “I’ll catch the next one,” he tersely explained.

Ducky was at his side and clutching his arm before the doors closed. “Jethro, you will find him. That wasn’t a question of doubt earlier. I  _know_ you’ll find him. Your love for the boy won’t accept anything short of success.”

Jethro drew his hand away from the elevator button. How in the hell had the old man connected the dots? It wasn’t like he’d informed any one of his plans to pursue a relationship with Tony. He was still testing the waters, for God’s sake. Seeing if his heart and soul were in agreement before switching teams.

Clearing his throat, he finally entered into the conversation. “I don’t have time for this nonsense, Ducky. Murderer on the loose, remember?”

Ducky rolled his eyes. “Don’t play the fool, Jethro. It doesn’t become you.” Reaching around, he punched the button and followed Jethro inside once the elevator doors open. “I have eyes, you know. Four of them, some would say.  I can  _see_ how much you care for Tony.”

“He’s a member of my team,” Jethro insisted in an attempt to maintain the status quo. Not only was it too soon to bare his feelings, it was also the wrong time and place. There was a case to solve, a murderer to hunt down and a colleague to rescue.

Jethro momentarily closed his eyes. Who was he fooling? Tony was so much more than a colleague. His kidnapping had driven that fact home like a razor-sharp knife, and the wound was a gaping hole in his chest.  “Of course I care for Tony,” he halfheartedly argued. “Just like I care for Kate or Abby or you, for that matter.”

Ducky stared him straight in the eye. “Bull feathers,” he calmly stated. “You’re in love with the boy. It’s written all over your face.” He grasped Jethro by the arms and shook him. “Find Tony. Find him and tell him the truth.” Releasing his hold, he took a step back. “This is a wake-up call, Jethro,” he insisted with a shake of his finger. “Please don’t dismiss it. The fates may not be so kind as to give you another chance at happiness.”

Knowing he was licked, Jethro nodded. Except for his mother and Shannon, Ducky knew him better than any other person in the world. Lying to him about matters of the heart was not even a consideration in his book. “You’re a royal pain in the ass. You know that, right?”

Ducky grinned. “It’s a responsibility I take very seriously.”

Jethro drew the older man into a rare embrace and hugged him hard. Lasting friendships were hard to come by, and he tried very hard not to jeopardize the few he had. “I’ll call as soon as I know something.”

Ducky waved him out of the elevator. “I’ll be waiting, my friend.”

 

**Truth be Told**

 

Jethro sat on the hood of his vehicle and stared at the front door to Tony’s apartment. He’d been sitting there for nearly a half hour, long enough to attract ‘Kallie with a K’s’ attention. Luckily, Tony’s personal bodyguard was late for a date with this month’s Mr. Right or else he’d been interrogated within an inch of his life.

“That girl is one tenacious bulldog, DiNozzo,” he announced to no one in particular. “Which, to be honest, isn’t a bad thing, ‘cause she definitely has your six.”

Thoughts of Kallie, her date, and her painted on tank top and shorts were abandoned the instant he saw movement in the apartment’s front window.

Tony stared out at him for what seemed like hours, and each passing second only added to the guilt that had Jethro glued to cooling metal beneath his ass.

 He knew he’d wounded Tony with his little quip to Magee earlier. He hadn’t meant it, of course, and was pretty sure every one present recognized it for what it was -- a humorous attempt at diffusing a messy emotional moment.  

 Tony had needed reassurance, had nearly begged for it and what had he done? Fed the kid’s insecurity regarding his self-worth.

 Jethro braced his elbows on his knees and lowered his head to his hands. Carding his fingers through his thinning hair, he cursed the headache that was threatening to blow off the top of his skull.

 Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 When would he learn he couldn’t treat his people, Tony especially, like they weren’t important to him? They were his team, for God’s sake, his family. They needed his approval, craved his respect, even if it came disguised as an infrequent nod of the head or a forced growl or a strained smile. Anything was better than nothing.

 Jesus Christ, would it have killed him to acknowledge how much he cared for Tony?

 Jethro groaned.

 In all honesty, the purpose of his remark had been twofold -- to lighten the mood _and_ prevent him from making an ass of himself. The instinct to haul Tony into a rib-crushing embrace was overwhelming and if it had been just the two of them in the elevator then maybe he would have said ‘the hell with it’ and done just that.

 But they hadn’t been alone. Kate had been with them and any sort of physical demonstration would have informed not only her but every single person on the floor of his feelings for the kid. Rule number 12 may not apply any more, but that was in regards to his private life. Publicly, the rule was going strong, enforced to the letter and even if it wasn’t, openly hugging a member of his team just wasn’t in his nature. At least not yet. He’d see about correcting that particular fault if things worked out with---

 “Ya know, I thought Kate was a bitch, but you, Boss, you’ve got her beat hands down.”

 Certain his skull would remain intact for the moment, Jethro let go of his head and looked up. Dressed in the same clothes he was wearing when abducted, Tony stood directly in front of him, arms crossed, eyes blazing, legs spread wide as if braced for battle.

 Aw shit. No way was he getting out of this. Time to bite the bullet and take his punishment.

 “You’re right,” he confessed. “I’m a bastard.”

 There, he’d admitted he was wrong.

 “And?”

 Having dropped his gaze to the pavement during his mumbled admission, Jethro glanced up sharply at Tony. “And? And what, DiNozzo? You want that in writing? Maybe have me take out an ad in the monthly newsletter? Sky-write it for every one to see?”

 Tony let out what sounded like a defeated sigh before taking a seat next to him.

 “Just say it, okay?” he wearily insisted. “Say it or get the hell out of here. I’ve had enough to deal with lately without you adding to it.”

 Cautiously, as if he knew his touch would be rejected, Jethro laid a hand on Tony’s knee and squeezed hard. It was now or . . . nope, never wasn’t part of the equation. “I care about you, Tony,” he gruffly admitted. “

More than you’ll ever know.”

 Ordering his brain to stand down and endure whatever snarky reply or movie-related comment was coming his way, Jethro closed his eyes and waited. He was surprised when Tony’s response manifested itself in action instead of words.

 Grime-crusted fingers wormed their way under his, tangling with, then gripping hard enough to cut off the circulation to his hand. It was better than a kiss.

 “Does this mean you believe me?” Jethro asked.

 Tony again answered with his body instead of his mouth.

 Jethro stared at the moist lip-print on his inner wrist. Okay, so technically Tony did answer the question with his mouth, but, in all fairness, kisses weren’t words and as far as he was concerned, were a thousand times better. No two ways about it.

 They sat side by side on the hood of his car, feet propped on the front bumper, hips, thighs, elbows bumping against each other until the moon and stars came out. No words were spoken, no further kisses offered or asked for. It was nice, Jethro decided, something he could get used to. Of course, knowing the person he was with, it was a safe bet to say the silence wasn’t going to last much longer.

 Ka-ching. Tony piped up as if on cue.

 “Uh, Boss?”

 “Jethro.”

 His correction earned him a shy smile.

 “Yeah, right. Jethro.”

 Gnawing on his lower lip, Tony took a moment to savor the permitted intimacy before continuing, “Uh, Jethro?”

 Another smile.

 “This, us, it’s something you’ve done before, right?” Tony turned to face him, grinning hugely at the shiver Jethro couldn’t control when the inner aspect of his thigh was hesitantly investigated. “I mean, yeah, I’ve only seen you with women, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t ever been with a guy, right?”

 Jethro swallowed hard. This bleeding-heart honesty was tougher than he’d imagined, and a certain someone’s inquisitive fingers weren’t making it any easier. He removed Tony’s hand from his thigh.

 “No, Tony,” he confessed. “I haven’t been with a guy. Not in the sense you mean.”

 Tony snapped his fish-gaping mouth shut. “Not ever? No kissing, no fooling around in the showers, no fuck buddy during the war? No nothing?” His voice escalated in pitch with each question posed.

 Jethro tore his eyes away from lips that could easily mesmerize him and shook his head. “Thought about it a time or two, but that’s all.” He pointed to himself. “Marine, remember? Don’t ask, don’t tell. Live to see another day.”

 “And now?” Tony asked. “What’s different now?”

 Jethro reclaimed Tony’s hand and held it in both of his. “You, me, this damn stubborn heart, this empty charade of a life I’m living. Hell, I don’t know.” Seconds later it was his lip-prints moistening the back of Tony’s hand. “Nearly losing you to that bitch, Vanessa, brought it all out in the open. I care about you, and damn if I---”

 “Care as in a friend?” Tony interrupted. He tugged unsuccessfully on his hand.

 “No.” Jethro tightened his grip. “Care as in . . . .” Words he never thought he would say again got stuck in his throat. Lucky for him, his heart cleared the obstruction in seconds flat.

 Wanting no misunderstandings between them, he looked Tony straight in the eye. “No, Tony, care as in a lover.”

 Chocolate brown eyes widened in disbelief then narrowed in contemplation. Whatever conclusion Tony arrived an eternity later must have been positive because before Jethro knew it his companion had scooted closer and was tucking their linked hands between his legs. His whispered response thawed Jethro’s heart.

 “Me, too.”

  

**Teaching an Old Dog**

  

“You’re not serious, are you? A date? You want us to go out on a date?”

 They had just made it inside the apartment when Jethro announced his strategy for courting. “What’s wrong with going on a date?”

 Tony stopped pulling on his arm, thus causing Jethro to stumble forward. He grunted when his bad knee made contact with the mail-cluttered table located to the left of the door. Several letters and magazines slid precariously close to the edge with one periodical giving way to the laws of gravity and falling to the floor.

 Tony ignored the mess and the steroid-inflated centerfold exposed when his monthly issue of _Freshman_ magazine hit the hickory hardwood flooring. “Come on, Jethro. It’s not like you’ve never been in a relationship before. Hell, man, you’ve stood in front of the altar four times.”

 “Yeah, and look how those turned out.” Jethro tangled his fingers in the softness of Tony’s tee and tugged him closer. “I want something different this time out. Something that will last.” He briefly pressed his lips to Tony’s mouth and smiled when his kiss netted him a breathless moan. “I want a relationship that doesn’t entail you coming after me with a baseball bat.”

 “Take me to bed, and I’ll show you a bat you won’t mind coming at ya.” Tony reinforced his declaration with a suggestive thrust of his hips.

 Chuckling, Jethro halted the tactile exploration of his groin. “As much as I appreciate your willingness to teach an old dog new tricks, I’d rather we take things a bit slower.”

 As expected, Tony was not deterred. He slid his arms around Jethro’s waist and groped his ass. “Slow as in make out on my couch or slow as in you scrub my back and I’ll scrub yours? If you haven’t noticed, Boss, I’m way past dirty, not to mention, stink to high heaven.”

 Jethro nearly gave into the fingers probing the rear seam of his slacks. He’d always enjoyed his second wife’s fascination with his butt. It had led to some very interesting evenings that would, no doubt, serve him well in his relationship with Tony.

 Tucking those thoughts aside, he gently removed the pair of hands from his behind and held them against his chest. “Slow as in kiss me good-night, and I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

 Tony complied with a pout that demanded more than one farewell kiss. “You’re no fun, Jethro. No fun at all,” he grumbled.

 Jethro silently agreed. He understood Tony’s objections. He, himself, would like nothing better than to crawl in bed and spend the rest of the night earning a membership in the All Boys’ Club. But physical gratification wouldn’t buy him forever, and that was more important than getting his rocks off. Not to mention an old dog needed patience and time in order to learn new behaviors. Patience wasn’t exactly his nor Tony’s strong point, but time, they had time in spades now, and he would savor every damn minute, even if it gave them both a major case of blue balls.

 

“Not fair, Boss. Not fair at all. I totally changed my outfit for the op, and you,” he indicated Jethro’s clothes, “all you’re gonna do is change watches? Not fair. I mean, really, you got to choose my outfit. Why can’t I choose yours?” Tony waggled his eyebrows. “It’ll be fun, I guarantee.”

 Jethro entered the men’s restroom with Tony hot on his heels. “Who said life was fair, DiNozzo?” He splashed water on his face and contemplated his next move.

 Military-grade weapons tagged for demolition were being stolen and sold to the highest bidder. He had a dead staff sergeant in the morgue and one or more accomplices in the wind. Kate was busy interrogating a possible suspect while Tony, with his undercover attempt at flushing out the buyers, had netted them an ATF agent by the name of Melinda Stone. Stone was currently cooling her heels outside the door, waiting for him to join her in a second undercover op. If all went well, the case would be put to bed by the night’s end.

Jethro grinned. Short and sweet, just how he liked them.

He looked over at the man lounging against the wall. Tony was wearing his patented boyish pout and as kissable as it made his lips appear, Jethro had no time for such foolishness. “DiNozzo! For God’s sake, quit acting the fool. We’re working a case or have you forgotten that. Get your mind out of the gutter and back on the job.”

He regretted the harsh reprimand the instant it left his mouth. The mischievous twinkle in Tony’s eye, his kissable pout -- all were erased as if they’d never existed, and Jethro felt their loss deep in his gut. “Tony?”

His face inscrutable for once, Tony straightened and made an immediate beeline for the exit. “You got it, Boss. Out of the gutter. Back on the job.”

Jethro caught Tony by the arm at the door. When he refused to turn around, Jethro reached around him and threw the lock on the bathroom door. “Tony,” he pleaded before gripping the back of Tony’s neck and kneading the rock-hard muscles that tensed each time the man swallowed.

Swallowing his disappointment in me, Jethro mused as the silence stretched into an unbearable stillness.

“I’m sorry,” he gruffly admitted. “This case---”

“There’s more to life than  _the case_ , Jethro.”

Tony finally turned, and Jethro could have kicked himself when he got a look at the hurt in his lover’s eyes. Good going, Marine, he derided himself. No wonder every lover leaves your ass high and dry. When will you learn people have feelings, feelings you rip to shreds with your damn intolerance.

Jethro dropped his arm to his side and pounded his fist against his thigh. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Old dog, remember? Old, stubborn, impatient---”

“Rude, arrogant, demanding, ruthless, hard-hearted, single-minded, obstinate---”

Jethro grabbed the fingers Tony was using to count off his less than stellar attributes. “I get the picture.”

Tony flipped his hand and gripped Jethro’s hard, demanding, “Do you? Do you really understand?”

With a sigh that spoke volumes, Tony released him and turned away. “That was shitty of you, Jethro. Downright shitty. I was only trying to have a little fun. You do remember fun, right?”

Jethro was considering offering up another apology, but Tony wasn’t quite finished with him.

“Yeah, I know the second ‘B’ stands for bastard,” the younger agent acknowledged, “but that was before, before you and I hooked up.” Tony ran a hand through his hair then checked his appearance in the mirror. His gaze briefly touched base with Jethro’s.

“Now, I realize being alone, going without sex for long periods of time does something to a person. Makes ‘em mean, hard to get along with.” Tony abandoned his twin’s reflection and turned back around, moving closer to Jethro and resting a hand over his heart. “But that’s all changed now. You’re not alone, you have me. Okay, to be honest, we haven’t had sex, but that problem will soon be rectified or my name’s not Anthony DiNozzo.”

Tony’s grin came and went in the blink of an eye.

“Also, I’m not so dumb as to think you’re going to change overnight just because we’re together. I did, however, hope you’d loosen up a bit. Relax. Let the real Jethro peek out now and then.”

Jethro took possession of the hand claiming his heart. “The real Jethro? I’m not sure that man exists anymore. He . . . .” Thoughts of Shannon and Kelly halted his words. The man that won Shannon’s heart and fathered a perfect angel had died along with them. He hadn’t resurfaced for the three woman who’d later enticed him down the aisle, and Jethro seriously doubted he’d make an appearance now, even for Tony. That man was gone, dead and buried or so he thought.

He met the unwavering gaze directed at him, saw the concern, the love, and, once again, reassessed his options. Cupping the sides of Tony’s face, he touched their foreheads together and whispered fiercely, “Help me, Tony. Help me find that man.”

Staring at him as if he could discern the sincerity of his plea, Tony stood motionless before clutching the hands framing his face. “All you had to do was ask, Boss. You know how I love a challenge.”

Their lips met and clung for the briefest of moments. Jethro chased after the daring tongue invading his mouth, and moaned with regret when his search met with failure. Tony’s kisses were addictive, and soon he wouldn’t be able to last a day without one.

Thoughts of their upcoming date and the kisses they would share along with everything else Tony had been teasing him with the past few days brought his libido online in a major way. It was a feeling he normally squelched, especially when on a case. Hell, if he was honest, his libido had been missing so long it would need a map to find its way home.

Jethro stole another kiss. What if he didn’t shut the door on what he was feeling? What if he actually acted upon it? Would lightening strike him down? Would the world come to an end?

Pulling back, he allowed his gaze to roam freely over Tony’s features. He saw the miniscule shadow of doubt lingering in his lover’s eyes and pledged then and there to do everything in his power to permanently erase that uncertainty.

“You know, there’s plenty more where that one came from,” Tony promised with an exaggerated lick of his lips. Grinning, he straightened Jethro’s jacket then brushed non-existent lint off the lapels. He also copped a feel of the muscular chest beneath and chuckled when his sneaky maneuver was acknowledged with a groan. “In fact, Jethro, catch the bad guys, and I’ll reward you with a whole lot more than just kisses.”

Desperately trying to ignore the nails scoring his highly sensitive pecs, Jethro swept an assessing look up and down Tony’s lithe frame. He did not miss the interest taking shape below the man’s belt.

_Lighten up. Relax. Let the real Jethro peak out._

The words echoed loudly in his head. Okay, Tony, you’re on, he decided. No time like the present to find a new definition for the second ‘B.’

Lightly skimming a finger over Tony’s belt buckle, he leaned forward and hotly whispered, “You damn well better be a man of your word, DiNozzo. The bad guys are going down, and I’ll expect my reward the second we . . . .”

He molded his hand around a rather surprisingly robust erection. It was the first time he’d deliberately touched another man’s genitals, and to be honest, it was a little daunting. What would it feel like without clothes, him exploring Tony, Tony exploring him?

Jethro felt the sizeable organ swell in size. A lump immediately rose in his throat, and it had nothing to do with anticipation. The thrill of the unknown was quickly replaced with uncharacteristic hesitation and anxiety. Tony was hung like a horse. How in the hell was he going to get his mouth down around that monster, much less tolerate it being shoved up his ass? Yes, ex-wife number two had finger-fucked him on more than one occasion. She’d also introduced him to the use of vibrators and anal beads. But nothing,  _nothing_ , she’d brought to their bed compared to the size of Tony’s dick.

Damn it, Gibbs, his inner self chided. You’re a soldier. Suck it up and take it like a man.

Jethro shook his head vigorously. Wrong. Take it, not like the cold-hearted soldier he was but like the man Shannon had fallen in love with -- the adventuresome, playful,  _willing_ lover -- the man he’d just asked Tony to help him be again.

His companion’s hiss of pleasure distracted him from his thoughts. Jethro looked down and was stunned to find his fingers had acted on their own cognizance. They had unbuckled, unzipped and were now wrapped around a solid column of blistering heat.

He rolled his eyes. Seemed his body was willing even if his mind was acting the shy virgin.

“Boss,” Tony raggedly panted. “Oh God, Jethro, keep that up and you’ll have your reward in minutes.” Hips jerking helplessly, he recanted, “Make that seconds.”

Jethro nuzzled the tousled hair that brushed his jaw when Tony dropped his head to his shoulder. “Babe?” He carefully eased the precious burden he was holding free of its silk covering and silently chuckled. Who else but Tony would wear silk underwear on an undercover op?

The thought of that skimpy piece of black silk, the skin-tight black jeans and the black leather jacket and cotton tee Tony wore earlier did more interesting things to his anatomy. He was in the process of closing his eyes to savor the sensations when an unexpected twitching of the organ he was holding caught his attention.

Was it sick to call another man’s erection a thing of beauty? Jethro wondered with bewilderment. He brushed a callused thumb over the mushroom-shaped head. It was flushed a dark, wine color and -- Jethro couldn’t help but lick his lips -- wet with pre-seminal fluid. The urge to taste suddenly blindsided him, and he snapped his head back as if struck.

Dear God in heaven, what was wrong with him? Here he was, at work, standing in the men’s restroom, his hand inside a co-worker’s pants, contemplating an act that was completely foreign to him.

And let’s not forget the pretty ATF agent waiting just outside the door, the brain above his belt reminded him.

Jethro groaned. There was no doubt about it. He was losing his mind.

“Jethro, please.”

Demanding lips took possession of his mouth, offering him an unconditional surrender in the same moment the organ in his hand offered him an unbelievable wealth of liquid heat. Caught by surprise, Jethro wasted precious seconds debating what would the Gibbs of old do?

Dismiss Tony’s juvenile reaction? Wash his hands and walk out as if nothing happened? Take Tony to task for behavior inappropriate for a federal agent?

Suddenly his arms were filled with the weight of a pliant body, and Jethro couldn’t help but grin. He had his answer.

Gathering Tony close, he held him until the shudders ceased. Nonsensical assurances were whispered as he rubbed his lover’s back in a soothing manner and accepted kisses that, for the most part, missed his mouth completely.

 This was how Shannon’s Jethro had responded in the past. More importantly, this was how Tony’s Jethro wouldrespond now _and_ in the future.

 He continued to mentally nod his head as he assisted Tony with the job of cleanup. He could change, _would_ change for this man, this young, vibrant man who had captured his heart.

 “You ready?”

 Leaving Tony with the final task, that of fixing his disheveled hair, Jethro washed his hands, then charged out of the bathroom, bellowing, “Get the lead out of your ass, DiNozzo! Break’s over or have you forgotten we have a case to solve.

 Fingers inconspicuously tangled with his when Tony passed him on the way down the hall to their work area.

 “You got it, Boss. Break’s over.”

 A heartbeat passed before Jethro heard the whispered promise, “For now.” Looking up and down the hallway and finding no one in the vicinity, he immediately put the brakes on the hand that was aiming for the back of Tony’s head and instead, directed it at his ass. He grinned at the stunned look of surprise that greeted his new disciplinary gesture.

 See? He could change.

 Collecting his weapon from the desk drawer he kept it in, he ignored the entrance of Melinda Stone. Instead, he took an uncharacteristically amount of time to catalogue the blush suffusing Tony’s cheeks. Seconds lengthened into minutes when his brain did a U-turn and traveled south, allowing him to visit another set of cheeks he would soon have the pleasure of viewing. The sound of Stone clearing her throat brought him up short, and he growled in frustration.

 Okay, he could change but damn it, did he have to go off the deep end all at once?

 He exchanged knowing looks with Tony.

 Yep, deep end it was. Thank God he was an expert swimmer.

  

End

 

[You can find me on Tumblr!](http://angelise7.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Any mistakes in canon are all mine. This was based on what we learned about the characters in Season 1.


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